The Family Jensen

by William W. Johnstone

  Smoke didn’t believe that. The icy hand clutching his stomach told him otherwise.

  Suddenly he heard hoofbeats in the darkness ahead of him. Reining to a halt, he drew his Colt. If the outlaws were riding in his direction, they would have a hot lead welcome waiting for them.

  It was only one horse, Smoke realized a moment later. He drew his own mount to the side of the trail, in the shadow of a looming slab of rock, and waited.

  The lone rider burst into view. Even in the bad light, Smoke saw how the man was swaying back and forth in the saddle as if he were injured. Smoke sent the ’Paloose lunging in front of the other horse. The animal shied away, causing the rider to tumble off. The man hit the ground hard, rolled over a couple of times, and came to a stop on his back.

  The light from the stars and a half moon was strong enough for Smoke to recognize Pearlie’s rawboned countenance.

  Smoke was out of the saddle in the blink of an eye, pouching his iron and kneeling beside his friend. “Pearlie!” He caught hold of the foreman’s shoulders. “Pearlie, what happened?”

  Pearlie blinked and stared up in Smoke’s general direction, clearly having trouble focusing on his employer. “Sm-Smoke? That you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I spooked your horse like that. I didn’t know who you were. How bad are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothin’ . . . just a scratch . . . but Sally . . . you gotta help her!”

  That cold, clutching fear was back. “Where is she?”

  “They . . . they took her. Four hombres . . . badmen . . . one of ’em was . . . that little fella you talked to . . . in the saloon.”

  “You mean Fisk?”

  “Yeah . . . Don’t know why I can’t . . . ever remember his name.”

  That confirmed it was Stonebreaker’s gang that had raided the ranch, although Smoke thought there would have been more than four men.

  “They kidnapped Sally?”

  “Yeah . . . Said you was to bring . . . five thousand dollars . . . to Hampton Peak by sunup . . . tomorrow mornin’ . . . They’ll meet you there . . . with her.”

  Smoke’s jaw tightened. He had no intention of paying any ransom for Sally, and he wasn’t going to wait until morning to get her back. The outlaws believed he was in Big Rock. They had no idea he was less than half an hour behind them.

  He knew this country a lot better than they did. He was willing to bet a hat on that. He knew the route they would take to get to Hampton Peak. By using some shortcuts, he could get ahead of them.

  Pearlie’s hand came up and clutched at Smoke’s arm. “The kid . . .”

  “You mean Cal?”

  “Yeah. He ain’t . . . dead. The other boys . . . it’s too late for them . . . but we gotta help Cal.”

  The dilemma tore at Smoke. Did he go straight after Sally and her captors, or did he detour by the ranch first to see what he could do for Cal?

  He knew what Sally would want him to do. She would tell him to see to Cal first and then come after her. But it was his choice to make, not hers.

  “If you’ll . . . get me back on that horse,” Pearlie said, “I’ll go see . . . what I can do to help Cal. You can . . . get on after them varmints. . . .”

  “Thanks, Pearlie,” Smoke said, his heart going out to his friend. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to—”

  “The heck I . . . ain’t! Just . . . catch that nag for me . . .”

  Pearlie was already struggling to his feet. Smoke took his arm and helped him up. Pearlie caught his breath, and seemed a little stronger, although he was still unsteady on his feet. The horse he had been riding hadn’t gone far. Smoke caught the animal easily and led him over to the foreman. He helped Pearlie climb into the saddle.

  “You go on now,” Pearlie said. “You got to help Miss Sally. If anything was to . . . happen to her . . . we wouldn’t get no more bear sign . . . and Cal’d never let me hear the end of it!”

  Despite the desperate situation, a hint of a smile flickered over Smoke’s rugged face. “Once I get Sally home, I reckon you and Cal will get all the bear sign you can eat from now on.”

  “One more thing,” Pearlie grated. “I promised those no-good skunks . . . you’d blow their lights out for good.”

  “I’ll keep that promise for you,” Smoke said.

  Chapter 19

  Burke’s hunch about Sally Jensen was confirmed as soon as he got a good look at her: she was a mighty handsome woman. And a mighty brave one, too. Even with bullets flying around, she had stood coolly, whipped out a gun, and shot him. The pain he felt from the bullet burn on his arm was tempered by the admiration he felt for her. He would have enjoyed getting to know her better, in more ways than one.

  Too bad she wasn’t going to live much longer.

  Burke wanted to get well out of earshot of that puncher he had sent to Big Rock with the message for Smoke Jensen. If the man heard a single gunshot, he might figure out what was going on. It was unlikely, but Stonebreaker didn’t like to take any chances and insisted that the men who rode with him follow his plans to the letter.

  Once Mrs. Jensen was dead, they would hide her body so her husband couldn’t stumble over it, then Kiowa Smith would ride on to Hampton Peak and set up an ambush for Jensen. The ’breed was the gang’s best shot with a rifle. As soon as he could see Jensen, he would put a slug from his Sharps through the gunfighter, and that would be the end of the notorious Smoke Jensen.

  In the meantime, Burke, Crandell, and Fisk would hightail it back to Big Rock to join forces with Stonebreaker and the rest of the gang for the raid on the town. It would be a night of blood, death, and fire, Burke thought, and when he and the others rode away, they would be considerably richer. It was a good plan . . . but Burke still wished Sally Jensen didn’t have to die so soon.

  He had a lot of wishes in life he told himself as he slipped his Colt from its holster. A little farther, he thought. A little farther, and then he would bring his horse to a stop, turn around in the saddle, and shoot Sally Jensen in the head before she knew what was going on.

  It was the merciful thing to do.

  The ’Paloose responded gallantly, as Smoke had known it would. Some folks didn’t like the big, spotted horses bred by the Nez Percé, claiming they were too high-strung and lacking in stamina. Smoke had ridden many Appaloosas over the years and knew that to be false. There were good and bad horses among every breed, but in general he had found the ’Palooses to be valiant, dependable animals.

  They were sure-footed, too, which was a good thing. Smoke was in a hurry and a misstep could be disastrous. He circled to the south, through a series of narrow canyons along the edge of Sugarloaf range that not many people knew about. Preacher had known an old Indian war trail ran through there, and he had told Smoke. Since then, Smoke had explored the route on numerous occasions.

  The trail ended in a steep, rocky slope. The ’Paloose swarmed up it like a mountain goat. Smoke held his breath a few times when it seemed like the horse might topple over backward, but the ’Paloose struggled on and finally reached the top. Smoke reined in and listened for the sound of hoofbeats that would tell him Sally’s kidnappers were close by.

  Not hearing anything, he rode quickly across the shoulder of ground that tailed off into the rocky slope behind him. On the far side of the open space was another slope covered with a thick growth of pines. Smoke rode into the trees. Sally’s captors would have to come along there to reach Hampton Peak, which bulked darkly in the night several miles to the west. Concealed in the pines as he was, they wouldn’t be able to see him until it was too late.

  Smoke couldn’t be a hundred percent certain his quarry hadn’t passed by already, but he knew he ought to be in front of them. Never having been one to brood about such things, he pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot, levered a round into the chamber, and waited.

  Minutes stretched out nerve-wrackingly, and he was mighty glad when he finally heard the steady sound of hoofbeats approaching. He edged the ’Paloose
forward a little.

  The riders came into view about fifty yards away, moving from left to right in front and slightly below him. They were far enough away that shooting would be tricky in the bad light, but he brought the Winchester to his shoulder and sighted over the barrel.

  “You must not value your lives very highly,” Sally said to the man riding in front of her as they started along an open stretch of ground with a heavily-wooded slope rising to the right. To the left the terrain dropped away ruggedly into a deep, vast pool of blackness. “Five thousand dollars split four ways doesn’t really add up to much. Not that you’ll get even that much. Smoke won’t pay any ransom for me.”

  “Are you saying your husband doesn’t love you, Mrs. Jensen?” the leader asked over his shoulder with a mocking tone in his voice.

  “I’m saying he’ll think it’s easier and cheaper to kill you.”

  The man laughed. “He can try.”

  “When Smoke Jensen tries to kill somebody, he generally succeeds.”

  “There’s always a first time for a man to fail.”

  “Maybe. But not tonight. Not for Smoke.”

  The man reined in, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop right in front of Sally’s mount. The other three crowded up around her. The leader twisted in the saddle, and Sally felt her heart drop when she saw moonlight reflect off the pistol he held. As the pistol came up, the man said, “You’re wrong.”

  Sally wanted to close her eyes so she wouldn’t see it coming, but she was too stubborn to do that. She was going to be looking right at the man when he shot her.

  The whipcrack of a shot tore through the night.

  Smoke bit back a curse when he saw the riders stop suddenly and close tighter ranks around Sally. Under better circumstances, he might have risked trying to blow them all out of their saddles before they knew what was happening, but in the uncertain light, a missed shot might hit her.

  He shifted his aim to a bigger target, the leader’s horse, and pressed the trigger. The Winchester kicked hard against his shoulder as the shot rang out.

  Instantly, Smoke dug his heels into the ’Paloose’s flanks and sent the horse leaping out of the trees. He jammed the rifle back in its sheath and drew both Colts as he guided the ’Paloose with his knees.

  “Sally, go!” he bellowed. “Straight ahead!”

  The leader’s horse was down, thrashing around as its life’s blood poured out from the wound in its breast. A hideous scream of pain had come from the animal as it fell, blending in with the shot its rider had fired as he was thrown from the saddle. Smoke prayed the bullet hadn’t found Sally.

  Only a handful of heartbeats had passed, but Smoke’s quick action and the swift, lunging strides of the big, spotted horse had closed the distance between him and the kidnappers by half. His spirits soared as he saw Sally’s horse leap forward, past the horse he had shot. She was leaning over, riding low in the saddle to make herself a smaller target.

  The leader scrambled to his feet and flung a shot after her while his companions clawed their guns from leather and opened fire on Smoke. He veered the ’Paloose from side to side as bullets whipped around his head. The Colts in his hands began to roar, orange flame spewing from their muzzles as he triggered again and again. One of the riders threw his hands in the air and pitched off his horse as Smoke’s lead found him.

  The leader snapped a couple shots as he dashed toward the riderless horse. He managed to grab the reins and got a foot in the stirrup. The horse bolted, but the man hung on for dear life and struggled up into the saddle. In the face of that furious charge, the other two broke and ran, wheeling their horses and kicking the animals into frantic gallops.

  Smoke let them go. He could always track them down later—and he would. His only concern at the moment was Sally.

  She had ridden a couple hundred yards away from the scene of the fight, then reined in and turned her mount. When she saw Smoke coming toward her, she raced to meet him. They called each other’s name at the same time.

  Smoke wanted to dismount, grab her out of the saddle, and hold her close. But the men who had fled still represented a threat. They might double back. Smoke’s goal was to make sure Sally was safe, so he stayed on the ’Paloose, holstered his revolvers, and drew the Winchester again.

  “Sally!” he said as their horses came alongside one another. “Are you all right? Were you hit?”

  “I’m fine, Smoke,” she told him breathlessly. “What about you?”

  “They didn’t get me.” He kept his eyes on the spot where the trail twisted around a ridge, where the three men had disappeared.

  “Do you think they’re coming back?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to be ready if they do.”

  “I knew you’d come after me.”

  A grim smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “Did you ever doubt it?”

  “Not one bit.”

  “I’d better go check on the one I downed.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she declared.

  Smoke knew better than to argue. “Just stay behind me.” If he could get her to do that, he’d be doing good.

  He guessed she realized just how close she had come to dying. As they rode slowly toward the fallen man with Smoke in the lead, he said, “Do you know who those varmints were?”

  “I don’t have any idea. They never called each other by name.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re part of a gang led by an hombre named Stonebreaker.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Neither had I until today.” Smoke told her quickly about the encounter he and Pearlie had had in town with Wylie Fisk, and how he had figured out those at the ranch might be in danger.

  “Pearlie!” Sally exclaimed. “He was shot, and so was Cal. Oh, Smoke, we have to help them—”

  “I already ran into Pearlie. Once he told me what was going on, he headed back to the ranch. He and Cal better be all right, otherwise I’ll have some more scores to settle with Stonebreaker and his bunch.” Smoke grimaced. “Of course, I can only kill ’em once.”

  “Sometimes that’s a real shame,” Sally said with a touch of the savagery that usually cropped up in her when those she cared about were hurt.

  Smoke nodded. “Was it just a kidnapping scheme? There are more than four men in Stonebreaker’s gang.”

  “Maybe these men weren’t riding with Stonebreaker anymore.”

  “Maybe if this varmint is still alive,” Smoke said with a nod toward the man on the ground as they brought their horses to a stop, “we can find out.” He handed the rifle to Sally, knowing she could handle it. “Keep him covered.” He swung down from the saddle and cautiously approached the man he had shot.

  Sally circled around on the other side so she would have a clear shot at the man if he tried anything. She lifted the rifle and aimed it as Smoke got the toe of his boot under the man’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. The man let out a groan.

  Smoke wasn’t surprised that he recognized the man. Wylie Fisk had lost his hat when he fell off his horse. The evening breeze plucked at the lank strands of his thinning hair. The front of Fisk’s shirt was dark with blood.

  Smoke went to a knee beside him. “Fisk, can you hear me? Wylie Fisk!”

  The little outlaw’s eyelids fluttered. After a moment he was able to hold them open. “J-Jensen?” he gasped.

  “That’s right.”

  “You gotta . . . help me! I’m shot!”

  “I know,” Smoke said calmly. “I’m the one who shot you.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry. I never meant to . . . hurt your wife. It was all . . . Stonebreaker’s idea.”

  “Was he with you?” None of the men Smoke had seen looked big enough to match Stonebreaker’s description on the wanted poster.

  “I hurt . . . like blazes.” Fisk licked his lips. “I need a drink of water . . . or some whiskey.”

  Neither of those things was going to help Fisk, gutshot the way he was. He was dead already. It would j
ust take an hour or so of very painful wrestling with the Grim Reaper before everything was finished.

  However, Smoke didn’t point that out. He said, “I’ll help you after you tell me where Stonebreaker is.” Kidnapping Sally wasn’t the whole plan, he sensed. Stonebreaker had some other objective in mind.

  “You swear you’ll . . . do what you can for me if I tell you?”

  “I swear,” Smoke said.

  “Stonebreaker . . . Stonebreaker and the others . . . are in Big Rock. It was . . . our job to get you away from there . . . so they could hit the bank . . . and loot the town.”

  “Tonight?” Smoke snapped. It was an audacious plan, and it had come close to working.

  “Yeah . . . They were gonna wait . . . until the rest of us . . . got back.”

  So murdering his ranch hands and kidnapping Sally was just a ploy to lure him away from Big Rock, Smoke thought. It made sense. The two deputies left in town were good men, but they wouldn’t be any match for Stonebreaker and his whole gang.

  “I told you . . . the truth . . . Jensen,” Fisk went on. “Now you . . . promised to help me . . .”

  “I’ll get my canteen.” Smoke started to straighten up.

  Fisk caught at his sleeve with a bloody hand. “That ain’t gonna . . . do any good . . . and we both know it.... Only one way . . . you can help me. . . . My guts are . . . full of lead.... Don’t let me . . . die like this.”

  Smoke reached for the knife sheathed behind his left hand gun. “You want to make your peace first?”

  A strangled laugh came from Fisk. “Ain’t no peace . . . for a man like me . . . to make. The Devil’s been ready to . . . shake my hand . . . for a long time now!”

  That was probably true, Smoke thought. The hand holding the knife made one swift move that opened Fisk’s throat from side to side. The outlaw’s back arched and his feet drummed against the ground, but only for a second. Then he slumped down again and it was over.